


Raindrops, Funeral and You

by hallulawy



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Creepy Hannibal, M/M, Non-Graphic Violence, oblivious will though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-12
Updated: 2013-05-12
Packaged: 2017-12-11 16:13:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/800645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hallulawy/pseuds/hallulawy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based on this kinkmeme prompt:<br/>I posted this before, but I didn’t add the subject line. Woops.<br/>Pretty much like the psychopath test thingy. A relative of Hannibal dies and Will is at is funeral. Hannibal and Will meet and have a small chit chat, but then the funeral ends. Afterwards, Hannibal wants to see Will again, so he did what anybody else could.<br/>He killed another relative.</p><p>A/N :But I didn't follow it completely, sans relative and chit-chat because I forgotten the original prompt while writing it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Raindrops, Funeral and You

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this because the prompt was deliciously creepy and I sort of just wrote it without having much experience on anything (I never attended a funeral). All errors are mine and I would be active again two weeks later. :)  
> I would still update my Tumblr from time to time.
> 
> P.S : I realize I did not fulfill the prompt completely, I am terribly sorry of this D:

 

* * *

They met under a sky of grey flowers, with dew drops falling lightly onto the ground.

Standing indistinctly among the others, most of them have ebony umbrellas in their hand and sometimes, a sob could be heard over the pitter patter of the rain drops.

Hannibal Lecter wore one of his finest, made sure his appearance is apt and of course, inconspicuous on such a mournful event. He had his black fleece coat on, his waistcoat over his silk dress shirt and a jet grey paisley tie with more black swirls than silver flowers.  


The umbrella in his hand deflected the rain and kept his suit dry. Which is an essential other than his pocket square that is kept intact for now. He ponders on the option of offering it to an individual of the sniveling crowd if they were to approach him. Unseen to others, he grips the handle harder, and looks into another direction, to avoid looking at the quivering mess in front of him.  


And then, he saw it. Oh yes, it. A sight more than a person, just a few feet away.  


No telling him why is his interest piqued, when there are much more interesting sights. Like the melted mascara on a blonde nurse’s face, horribly so; The fidgeting hands of a man, aching to reach for his cellphone in his suit pocket; Or the insolent tap of feet by an elderly that constantly huffs at the sight of his lavish but clumsy timepiece.  


These eligible materials are forgiven for now. Instead, he focuses on he who seems like the hound among the black sheep.  


Perhaps everything else is too mundane to his taste, or maybe he’s just bored. His last hunt was two weeks ago.  


He can see the person clearly from here. Stood beneath an umbrella, his (how tiresome, he doesn’t even know his name) gaze is lowered to the pavement. He wore a suit, black even though Hannibal spotted the hints of discolouration to identify it as one of the forgotten pieces in the dress cabinet, along with its ill fitting state. There are no cufflinks to pinch the sleeve, given how the coat is large enough to conceal it completely, it is not a necessity. But.   
  
He look like he was forcefully dressed and bathed in soap in haste so to participate the event. Hannibal tuts internally when he saw the bristled cheeks and messily parted curls.

Then, heard he the annoyed cough on his right, and he turns back to the pair of trembling shoulders in front of him again. Slightly embarrassed, he straightens himself all the while looking at the broad back of a female and finds it curiouser and curiouser, he knows it from somewhere...   


His fingers twitch in sudden realization. They reminded him vividly of the one he procured very recently. They are quite proportionate, the meat composites of both fat and meat almost equally. Delightfully roasted, they were marinated in lime and chile for two nights and served with a generous amount of apple cider gravy, paired with a 2008 Savigny les Beaune. The importune madame’s colleagues certainly relished it thoroughly, said it was exquisite.  


Pursing his lips, he tears his eyes off the black blob. She wouldn’t be the suitable target, considering how she flaunts herself as frequent as possible. They would notice her missing too soon.  


Through peripheral gaze, he observes and indulges. He shouldn’t be looking at a stranger that isn't quite qualified as his meals(for now), but he is.  


Because, he can’t help but wonder how a mongrel managed to attend the funeral of a forensic psychologist.  


He couldn't be in their field, it is far too... Unbelievable. And proper conveyance is an essential, especially appearance-wise.  


The police force? Relative? Friend? Distant relationships? He could be a past relationship of some sort.  


But oh, Dr. Rachtner prefers woman’s company more than men. He reflected that through his perversion towards young ladies.  


Hannibal huffs. A sneeze is heard in a distant.  


The increasing downpour, the leaving of the priest and sudden loud sobs allows him to hang his head low, to display a pretense of commiseration towards the situation and grieve of a colleague he never truly mingled.

Soon, he turns his head just once more, when the ceremony finally ended. The crowd has dispersed and now he sees the odd one talking to Jack Crawford and the sullen Alana Bloom.  


_Police force then._  


The tilt of the umbrella allows the shower to form a dark patch on his shoulder. He shakes his head slowly and Jack Crawford frowns, Bloom’s lips a thin line of distress.  


When they turned to face him, he find it risible that he have quite forgotten himself and now the observed observes the observer. Such a fatal mistake on his part.  


Not caring for subtlety themselves, Alana Bloom whispers something to Crawford while looking at him, and Crawford hardened his gaze under the shade of the umbrella.  


The unknown met his eyes, but his eyes are void of any emotions. Pitch black like the garden soil.   


The rain weakened, and they (Jack Crawford and Alana Bloom, the mongrel stood where he is)approached him. Jack Crawford pulled a tight smile, and thenceforth, it begins.  


‘Dr. Hannibal Lecter, I presume?’   


‘Quite right.’ He nods, ‘Dr. Jack Crawford, if I am not wrong.’  


‘Agent, please.’ He grins. ‘I see you were interested in our conversation, and no worries,’ Inserted a wave of his free hand. ‘I am not insinuating that the FBI would be suspicious of you just because of that. But Dr. Bloom here told me you are one of her colleagues that shared thoughts on the recent murder of our good friend, who is now, as we can see, under the tombstone with his name engraved on it.’ Jack Crawford grimaces, but Hannibal could imagine the term good friend would be an exaggeration. He never heard of their proximity whatsoever from anybody at all. For Jack Crawford, a man well known in their circle for his iron grip, is almost shunned because of his threatening existence.  


‘I did. He is well known in our field. But I merely quoted on the correlation of his personal affairs to the appalling state he was in, sadly.’  


‘Hmm. Dr. Bloom said you provided an infallible insight that was valuable. You said that the killer was a patient of Dr. Rachtner, and could be delusional enough to murder the doctor out of piety, regarded his psychologist as an enmity that should be destroyed before he could spread the evil?’  


Hannibal smiles, and Alana Bloom stares at him uneasily beside Jack Crawford.   


‘I assumed through what I’ve known. Through the limbs that are ritualistically placed in each of the corners of his room, I merely suggested it as a possibility. It is plausible that he was trying to play God's hands by dishonouring the initial state of humanity, thus the distortion of limbs while he was alive. He was stabbed to death, on the heart.' Hannibal pointed to his own. 'A stalk of Snowy Hydrangea placed upon his chest. And it was known not too long ago, that our friend was involved with a few underage patients of his, sexually. The scandal was great. I would not be surprised that the perpetrator believed that deflowering them was a heinous crime against his cult, and he decided to inflict punishment on his own.' Hannibal says and Jack Crawford almost put on a smile. Alana Bloom look conflicted, she seems to be having a hard time on explaining to herself the proprietary of speaking these near the burial of their victim, late-colleague even.

The rain has stopped by now, and Hannibal did his best to smile through the silence hanging in the air.

'I am amazed. Thoroughly.' Jack Crawford beams, his umbrella shivers as he nods. 'Your theory was accurate. We caught the man two days after our victim's death. It seems that he was deeply involved with a cult. The doctor wasn't his first.'  


He look behind, and the man was still standing there, his eyes flickers when Jack Crawford nods solemnly, as though an owner telling his pet to get ready to leave.  


'I would be happy to have your assistance, from time to time. If it isn't a bother?' He looks into Hannibal's eyes earnestly, and Hannibal looking at the frail pet again, nods.  


'I trust Dr. Alana Bloom would direct your contact information to me. It has been great meeting you.Thank you.' He turns to leave. Alana didn't follow him immediately, she sighs.

'I trust, that I was not the one to solve the case.' Hannibal states, shaking the raindrops off of his umbrella.  


'No. You're not. But on the same timeline, you sort of did.' She shrugs. 'I mentioned of a profiler, while talking to you about the case? He solved it. Later than you though. But surprisingly, both of you had the same opinions on the murder. The profiler, he was... Not in his usual state then.' She whispers. 'But your beer was quite a conversation opener.' She shakes her head with a smirk. 'I told him I told you because you might have some different insights, and right after I got your opinion on it, Will solved it.'

'Will?'  


She nods, eyes looking at the direction of the mongrel. So his name is Will.  


'Will Graham. The one Chilton has been spreading words on him being a remarkable psychopath with a brain that was worth dissecting.' She rolls her eyes in disgust.

Hannibal said nothing. Will Graham was now looking at them, his umbrella kept and his hands clenches and unclenched around them. Hannibal smiles at him, and he is pleased to find the curly headed profiler ducks his head low promptly.  


'We need to go now.' She says, beaming. 'I'll call if Jack needs you, or maybe he will call you himself.' She waves, and Will follows her, head still duck low.

He looks at them until their figure diminishes as they enter their vehicle. He is the only one left in the cemetery now.

Hannibal ambles towards his car, humming. He find himself enthralled by this Will Graham. 

His interest was present ever since Chilton boasted on how he would gladly analyze a certain FBI agent that could empathize with psychopathic killers, it must have been a malady of some sort. And Alana Bloom, cemented it by saying the gift of this individual, that he is worth so much more than what Chilton offered. The beer was quite effective that way. 

But Chilton not only have referred Will Graham as a specimen, there was a remark he made then that now made so much sense.

_He's like an egg waiting to be hatched. Sooner or later, he's going to be one of those psychopaths, aching to be solved._  


He walks under the sunlight, realize in irritation that he did not have the opportunity to introduce himself to this exotic creature.  


Or, perhaps, the opportunity has not been made.  


* * *

 

He thanked her, thanked this writhing woman whose eyes said nothing but fear.

She have presented herself to him, to be made into a piece of gift worth remembrance forever. Slowly, he takes her crimson soaked liver out. Her eyes fluttering and strangled moans flooding her own ears. They are too little for him to relish. She is supposed to be a sacrifice after all, he is too immersed into perfecting her.

Her tears streams over her cheeks, and she sees how her organ maroon and the man kneeling beside holds it with pride. He looks at it with such awe that it is almost surreal. 

He then whispers into her ear, so soft and so full with joy.

'Thank you.'

And then comes the sharp blade that deliberately cuts through her throat, and a soft gush of warm fluid sticky around her hair, and she sees it. She sees everything.

The man, a monster, closes her eyes with his smile and he murmurs.

'He will be thrilled.'  


* * *

 

Will Graham woke up to a call. It was made by his superior and then he remembered drinking a mug of stale coffee and ate a supposedly expired baloney sandwich. He fed his dogs and then he left, only to find his glasses still in the house, and had to steer back to retrieve them again.  


And then he's here. Jack is telling him about the case, his head foggy with coffee and drowsiness and his glasses murky with fingerprints.  


'---So, I took the liberty to look for somebody that could perhaps offer us assistance.' That's what he heard.  


'What?' He jerks his head to face Jack, whose expression is grave as ever.  


'Your performance issues Will. Dr. Lecter just so happens to be suitable in analyzing the crime scene, his deductions are accurate. He might not be as good as you, but I thought of adding an extra pair of hands just in case.  


'There he is. Be friendly.' Jack steers him towards a man whose immaculate suit seems to have made him the center of attention. His copper streaked hair and carefully blanked expression is what reminded him of who he is.  


The man in the funeral who smiled at him when the tombstone was not so far from them. Alana told him something about the person being her mentor and a gentleman with profound etiquettes.  


'Mr. Graham.' He smiles, Will looks at his jaw and sees how tight the lines are. He holds out a hand, nails neatly trimmed and Will cautiously accepts it.  


'I believe we met before. But unfortunately, I couldn't make an advance into introducing myself earlier.'   


'Well, I wouldn't say a funeral would be the best place to make friends.'

The Lecter figure makes a toothy grin, tilts his head. His hand tight around his. 

'Hannibal Lecter, it's a pleasure to meet you.'  


Will nods, and tries pulling back his hand. The man have a very strong grip. He could almost feel the unwillingness in the loosening. He coughs.  


'Do you know anything about the crime scene?'  


'Agent Crawford has informed me.' He nods. 'She was quite young.' 

_ Fin. _


End file.
